Faith
by xxbabewithbrainsxx
Summary: I used to pray every day, you know, and before, well before, I used to think there were angels that had wings and flew over our heads, invisible, protecting us." Sam and Amelia talk nicknames, tattoos and faith. Sam/Amelia one-shot.


_Motel bedsheets are the worst_, Sam thought, trying to ignore how worn out the fabric beneath his bare back felt. It was somewhat easier than he thought, though, when Amelia was draped over him, nestled between his arm and his chest. Her thumb was slowly trailing up his torso from his belly, in a lazy way that made him feel like they had all the time in the world. And to Sam, he did, really. He wanted nothing better than to stay right where he was, in a musty motel bed, having drunk cheap beer and shared soup with Amelia, because they were together, and that was all that mattered to him.

"Hey, Sam?" Her voice brought him out of his reverie. He shifted slightly so they were more comfortable and then met her eyes questioningly.

"Yeah?"

For some reason, she faltered a little at his gaze, but after a moment, she said quickly, with a nervous laugh, "Don't look so worried. I just wanted to ask if you could grab that pillow there — my leg's cramping."

"Sure, babe," he said, and it was only when he was retrieving the pillow that he realised what he had said and froze.

"Sam?"

Hastily, he handed her the pillow and closed his eyes, removing his arm from her shoulders. There was a faint rustling sound, but then he felt an unexpected kiss on his left eyelid. His eyes flew open, then, but her beautiful face remained above his, not even an inch away.

"Hey," she said softly. "It's okay."

"That just came out," Sam said immediately. "I didn't mean—"

"Don hated pet names," Amelia interrupted. "I don't."

"I don't…" he began, not really sure whether to continue, but she was still watching him questioningly. "I don't usually do the whole endearment thing, to be honest."

"Why not?"

"I kind of avoided it after my girlfriend died," he admitted. He had told her very briefly about Jess, omitting details, of course. After all, Amelia had confided in him about Don; it had felt only right at the time that he do the same. Somehow, Sam then found it in him to laugh lightly. "Actually, she never liked it the few times I called her anything but her name, come to think of it."

"Just don't call me 'munchkin' and we're okay," Amelia replied with a smile. Her eyes pierced his, and he could feel her gaze rest for several seconds at the crook of his neck where — only if anyone looked really, really closely — he had a tiny trio of beauty spots. Her palm, which had found his shoulder, slid down his chest until he was sure the throb of the pulse in her wrist, pressed down against his anti-possession tattoo, matched the beat of his thumping heart. "You don't look like the tattoo type," she said eventually. "When did you get this?"

"About five years ago," he said. "Dean and I got them at the same time."

"Oh? Does it mean something special, then?" she asked.

"Yeah, I guess it does." He couldn't help but smile. Always, _always_, he'd wanted to explain it to somebody, and Sam knew that Amelia wouldn't laugh or scoff at his explanation. When Bobby had first given them the anti-possession charms, Sam had researched it, finding out the exact meaning of the symbol. Dean hadn't been particularly interested, especially when Sam mentioned the words "Christ" and "God", but now, Sam could tell Amelia and know she would listen.

"This is a pentagram, isn't it?" she asked, and her fingers very lightly slipped from one point on the star to the next.

"It's not Satanic," he said instantly, and she laughed.

"I never said it was."

"It actually represents the five wounds of Christ when he was on the cross," Sam began, "and it's enclosed in a circle, representing God and His everlasting protection." He paused, trying to suppress the sudden feeling of anger within him at God leaving the angels in such a mess and His complete and utter lack of everlasting protection… but he was past that now. Sam wasn't going to think about his life before Amelia; the pain caused was just too much.

"And the fire around it?" Amelia asked.

"It represents the Holy Ghost. So, you see, it's basically the Holy Trinity, all in a tattoo."

"I didn't know you were Christian."

"I don't think I'd identify myself as one either," Sam admitted. "I just… I used to pray every day, you know, and before, well before, I used to think there were angels that had wings and flew over our heads, invisible, protecting us."

There was silence for what felt like a long while. Finally, Amelia prompted, "And now?"

"I still pray," he said at last. "Every day. I'm just… less sure He's listening, I guess."

His hand crept to her cheek and he pressed a kiss on her lips, but after only a moment, she moved away a little, her fingers grasping at his much larger hand. "You know, I don't usually get jealous, but still, I… I envy you for having that faith."

"Really?" He was surprised. There was nothing, nothing in Sam's life worth being envious about, he was sure of that. Of all things, his blind (and, he was sure, stupid) faith in the God he knew existed but didn't care was the last reason on earth for Amelia to feel jealous about.

"Yeah. You've never seen or heard Him, and you've had a lot of crap happen to you before, and yet, for some reason, you still thank God, still pray to Him."

"I guess I'd probably fall apart if I didn't have faith in… something," Sam admitted.

A slightly sceptical look fell on her features as she then asked, "And you believe in the afterlife? Heaven, hell, whatever?"

"Yeah," he said automatically.

Her brow furrowed, and that tiny movement of her forehead caused a few stray brown curls to fall in front of her eyes. "What if it's not real?" she said finally. "What if, when we die, we just rot in the ground and worms or whatever eat us and that's it?"

"My brother used to think that."

"And what, he just saw the light?"

Sam flinched, closing his eyes. For a moment, he was no longer encased in the soft warmth of a bed and Amelia's arms; he was _there_, Lucifer's howls of laughter ringing in his ears and hell's white-hot flames licking his ankles. "You could say that, yeah," he said weakly after a long pause.

End Notes: This is my first ever Supernatural fic, so I would love to know what you think :) Also, Sam's explanation of the anti-possession tattoo was something I found on tumblr ( post/43373087822/how-to-explain-your-anti-possessi on-tattoo-to-someone). I thought it was really interesting and have always wanted to intersperse this into a story, especially after I got a henna version on my arm recently :D All credit goes to the OP and not me for the meaning.

I would love a review!


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